“Don’t go,” she says when she reaches the office and I know the past has faded from her vision.
Geoffrey leans against a bookshelf, his fingers tucked into the front pockets of his neatly tailored chinos. To someone who doesn’t know him well, he’s the picture of relaxed confidence. But I can see the ticking muscle in his tense jaw.
Sarah busies herself setting up the altar to cast her spell and pays no attention to him.
If I weren’t completely selfish, the two of them would make a wonderful couple. She’s slightly older, but he’s always been an old soul. I want him to be happy. The fact he is still alone, cooped up in the brownstone day after day, breaks my heart all over again.
A surge of love washes over me as I stare at my soulmate.
“I love you.” Andrew’s voice carries through the bookcase from the secret room on the other side.
“Ooh,” I whisper. They’re totally making out in there. Since they’ve already found a room, I close the door for them to give them some more privacy. If I can’t kiss Geoffrey and he’s not kissing anyone else, at least two people in love should be kissing in this house.
“Not funny. We’re stuck in here,” Madison says.
I closed the door! I shoved a heavy, wood door with the power of my mind. I’m a badass poltergeist. Behold my power! I cover my mouth to smother my laughter.
A few moments later, Madison stumbles through the door into the library, sprawling face first on the carpet.
I can’t help it. A loud snort escapes my mouth as laughter pours out of me.
Andrew, Tate, and Sarah rush to help Madison back to her feet. Sam bends over her knees, shaking with laughter, and Philips wipes tears from the corners of his eyes.
“A grander entrance has never been made.” Geoffrey slowly claps. “Is that the book?”
“What just happened?” Sarah asks Andrew.
“We were trapped in the room with the book for a minute.” He slips his hand around Madison’s waist. From his swollen lips and her messy hair, it’s clear what was just happening.
“The ghosts closed the door on us.” Madison throws me under the bus.
“Madison was smart enough to try the door into this room,” he says with pride.
“I tripped and accidentally sprung the release.” Madison’s cheeks deepen with a blush.
Does anyone believe her?
Stepping into the small, hidden room, Geoffrey studies the shelves. “Fascinating. I’ve always wanted a secret passage at the Society.”
Oh, he’s good. Like he doesn’t know that room well. Intimately well.
The realization that Geoffrey hasn’t made the connection between me and Madison’s ghost is a punch to my gut. He doesn’t know it’s me.
“Shall we set the charm on the copy and be on our way?” Philips prompts the group. I take a minute to study him. He really hasn’t aged much since my time at Hawthorne. Whatever anti-aging magic he’s tapped into could make him billions if he could bottle it. I wonder if he brought Mildred the cat with him.
After the reunion with Madison last December, I’ve taken a few trips to Salem to check in on her and make sure she’s okay. I swear that cat has followed me around town like she knows me. Maybe she does remember me. That’s sweet.
Sarah points at the library table decorated with a pentagram composed of crystals and herbs. In the center lies the book with the golden moons. “I prepared the altar while you were collecting the book. If you could place it on top of the other one, we can begin.”
The group gathers in a circle around the table. Madison stacks the real book on top of the other one.
“Let us cast a sacred circle by calling the elements to join us. Please close your eyes, clear your minds, and focus your breath.” Sarah takes a deep inhale and slowly releases it.
The breathers inhale and exhale in sync with her.
“Hail to the spirits of the east, I summon the power of air.” She speaks in a soft voice directed at Sam.
Facing Andrew, Sarah says, “Hail to the spirits of the south, I summon the power of fire.”
Sarah addresses Tate, “Hail to the spirits of the west, I summon the power of water.”
Facing Madison, Sarah finishes the circle. “Hail to the spirits of the north, I summon the power of earth.”
Geoffrey, Philips, and Smith fill in the gaps between the cardinal directions. Without verbalizing it, Sarah has labeled the young witches by their elements. The rest of us are here to support their magic.
Madison looks straight at me and frowns. Disappointment and embarrassment still shadow her eyes. Doesn’t she understand what I did? I closed the door like a petulant toddler.
I mouth “sorry” and give her an apologetic smile.
After invoking all four cardinal directions and their corresponding elements, Sarah invites spirit to join our circle. “As within, so without. As above, so below.”
Moving to be between Sarah and Tate, I mirror the sphere Sarah draws through the air. We are now an odd number, as it should be.
With the circle complete, Sarah lights a candle and places it on the table. A happy smile on her face, she enthusiastically says, “Let’s do this.”
She hands a bundle of juniper to Andrew. He creates a small flame in his palm and holds it near the end of the juniper until it alights, sending up a fragrant spiral of smoke.
I inhale deeply. I love a good smudging. Like dry shampoo for energy and ghosts.
“Thank you,” she says to him. “First, we’ll smudge both books to remove any negative energy attached.”
The smoke turns black before paling to a pure white. Sarah places the juniper on a large oyster shell.
Next, she sets a palm-size piece of labradorite and smaller points of black tourmaline on top of both books. “For protection.”
“Now we bind their power together. Repeat after me,” Sarah instructs us before softly speaking the sacred words. When the last word is spoken, the plume of smoke on the juniper sparks and goes out. “So it is spoken, so it shall be.”
I repeat her words as I stare at Geoffrey. Unable to resist the temptation of close proximity to him, I reach out and touch the wayward curl on his forehead. He sweeps it away a second later but otherwise seems unaware of my touch.
Sarah thanks the four elements and cardinal directions, ending with a thank you to the Father Sun and Mother Earth.
I repeat her words. I love a sacred circle and it’s been ages since I’ve been invited to attend one.
Sarah walks around the table, stopping at each point to slash the air with her finger as if she’s cutting the circle open.
The magic is cast and our work here is done.
★★★
The group returns to the brownstone and congregates in the archives. When I pop into the room, Mildred hisses from inside of her crate.
I hiss back.
Madison’s attention flicks to me and our eyes meet.
Oops.
I smile at her and wave my fingers.
She smiles back and I feel like I’ve made a friend.
I’m still wearing my ball gown. If I’m going to be visible on a regular basis, I’ll need to change outfits.
We stare at each other for an awkward moment. There’s no recognition in her eyes but she seems happy I’m here. I point at the black book and nod in approval. I have faith they’ll figure out the mysteries it contains soon.
Mildred hisses at me again. I shoot a dirty look at the carrier.
Catching the exchange, Madison laughs.
Seven
Madison and her friends remind me of myself in college. Eager. Skeptical. Passionate. Clueless.
Every day I thank the stars that smart phones weren’t around when I was their age. Assuming all photographic evidence hasn’t been shredded or burned, there are probably a few blurry Polaroids of me still around, long forgotten in boxes in attics—evidence of my immaturity and poor choices.
The unfortunate bangs and hairspray combinati
on. A misguided attempt to emulate Debbie Harry’s style with a bottle of peroxide and the kitchen shears. The time I decided to make out with a bottle of Jaegermeister and a guy wearing black lipstick. Shockingly, this was a terrible combination. Or the phase when Winona Ryder from Beetlejuice was my goddess and fashion icon. Before that, my Hanson obsession.
Thinking about all of the awkward times has me feeling nostalgic. I wonder what ever happened to all the stuff from my childhood room. Lost in memories, I drift into the in-between space of now and then.
Conjuring up the details of my old bedroom, I flop on the pink comforter on my canopy bed. The decor is my mother’s decorator’s vision of what a teenage girl would love if she were also a fifty-year-old gay man with a Lily Pulitzer obsession. Palm Beach preppy meets antique New England colonial furniture. It’s the perfect space for a hip grandmother. I never thought I’d miss this room.
“We need your help.”
“Are you there?”
“Can you hear me?”
My normal silence is broken by too many people calling to me. Three people is a lot for someone who is used to being ignored.
Ducking my head under the floral needlepoint pillow, I try to muffle them. Of course this doesn’t work, because their voices are inside of my brain.
“I’m trying to sleep in,” I mumble into the soft down covering my face.
“Are you hiding?” Sam’s voice slips through the din of the other breathers.
With a grunt, I shove the pillow off of my head and sit up. Disgruntled teenager comes easy to me as I fling off the soft blanket that magically appeared and then stomp around the room. “I’m here. Can’t a girl take a nap without interruption?”
I forget sometimes they can’t really hear me.
My old bedroom disappears and instantly I’m back inside of the brownstone’s library.
“Now what?” I don’t hide my annoyance or my bedhead.
I expect Madison to be in the library, but she’s not here.
Everyone else is gathered in the room, looking stressed and anxious. Andrew stares out the bay window; Tate speaks into his phone, his voice low and menacing; Sam stares at her tarot cards; . Geoffrey paces the room while his security guard, Smith, taps his phone’s screen.
Something is wrong.
“Alice,” Sam says, “if you can hear me, we need your help. Madison is missing.”
“How do you know if she’s here without Madison being able to see her?” Andrew’s voice is sharp, harsh.
Sam ignores his doubt. “Uh, ghost girl, please give me a sign you hear me.”
I flip a card, randomly revealing the empress.
“She’s here,” Sam tells the men.
“Tell her we think Madison’s missing.”
I can hear them. Obviously. What do they want me to do? I can’t just find her in a big city. I’m not a bloodhound.
“We believe this has something to do with the black book.” Geoffrey stops his pacing a few feet away from me.
I reach out to brush the back of my hand against his. He doesn’t react to my touch.
Black book. Missing Madison.
“I’ll be back,” I tell the group even though they can’t hear me. “Stay here.”
★★★
Standing on the threshold of the summer house is an unfamiliar older woman in a black and white uniform. She’s not one of the regular housekeepers. I’ve never seen her before. On the other side of the threshold stands Stanford Bradford with a tight grip on Madison.
I loathe him on a visceral level.
“Mr. Bradford.” She doesn’t sound happy to see him, but her enormous glasses hide most of her face, making her look like a bug.
“Shall we, Madison?” He holds another thick envelope in his hand, which he hands to the woman.
“Please come inside.”
Whoever she is, she’s not working in my family’s best interest.
“Thank you, Phyllis.” Stanford subtly shoves Madison forward.
Phyllis blinks and sweeps her arm in a welcoming gesture. Like a robot. “Follow me. I’ll show you to the library.”
She walks with a slight limp in her left leg and I’m certain she’s wearing a wig. A disguise perhaps.
“This shouldn’t take long, but we don’t want to keep you.” Stanford enters the library, leaving Madison in the foyer with Phyllis.
I fight the urge to create a distraction so Madison can run away, but I doubt Stanford came here alone.
“If you need anything, please let me know,” Phyllis whispers to Madison and then gives her a wink.
“Madison,” Stanford calls to her, annoyed.
“Thank you,” Madison tells Phyllis.
Inside, Stanford studies the shelves. I perch on the edge of one of the sofas, watching him in disgust.
Madison smiles when she sees me. I give her a wink to let her know I’m here for her. Pointing at Mr. Bradford, I stick my tongue out and pretend to gag. Then I pantomime stabbing him in the back as I shadow him, imitating his posture and walk.
My antics lighten the mood and I’m relieved to see Madison smile. We’re going to be fine.
“Are you a fan of books, Mr. Bradford? Your son and I met in English class. Did you know that? Andrew loves reading.” Madison speaks to Mr. Bradford, but it sounds like she’s relaying information to me.
I point at Stanford with a question in my eyes. He’s here for the book.
Madison confirms this with a subtle nod.
Using my finger, I pretend to make myself vomit.
I have an idea and I need back up. With a nod to Madison, I disappear.
Back in the Society brownstone, I search for Geoffrey. Without Madison acting as an intermediary, this might be an epic failure. I find him in his office, books and papers scattered across his desk. He’s sitting in the old, leather desk chair, facing the window with his hands knotted behind his head. At first I think luck is on my side and he’s fallen asleep already, but then he spins the chair to face the doorway.
His dark eyes appear weary, tired. Dark circles create shadows above his cheekbones.
“Oh, Geoffrey.” I press my hand over my mouth.
He blinks and swipes the heels of his hands into the hollows of his eyes. “Alice. What happened to you, my love? I thought I’d have answers by now. Instead, another woman has gone missing. It’s all my fault.”
When his voice breaks, my heart cracks.
“It’s not too late,” I whisper.
He leans his head against the chair, and I sweep my hand over his soft hair. I swear he presses against my palm.
“Come with me. Help me.” I press my lips to his forehead.
“I don’t know what to do. I put all of my hope into this group. I’ve failed them. Like I failed you.” He closes his eyes and exhales.
“No, we’re not going to let them win. Not again.” Focusing all of my energy, I whisper against his lips, “Sleep, my love.”
Eight
With dreaming Geoffrey in tow, I return to the summer house. Dressed in his tuxedo, he’s as dashing as I remember. I’m back in my ball gown so Geoffrey will think this is a memory inside of his dream.
He glowers at Stanford like he recognizes his enemy. Tucking my arm into the crook of his elbow, I try to calm Geoffrey with my touch.
Mid-stroll around the room, Madison waves at us.
“What are you doing?” Stanford glowers.
“I’ve only had visions of the book. I need to lock in to its energy in order to find it. There are thousands of titles in this library. I’ll try to summon the right one. Let’s see, how did that spell go?” She taps her chin like she’s trying to remember the words. “Right. Books of old, stories already told, if you are the one for me, fly, fly down to me.”
Making eye contact with me, Madison points at the books on the shelves above Stanford’s head.
I whisper to the Geoffrey next to me. “Let’s have some fun. Have you ever wanted to float?”
He blinks at me for a second before a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. “You’ve had too much champagne.”
“The bubbles will help us fly.” I lift off the ground and he lets me drag him off the floor.
“You’re crazy.” He squeezes my hand. “I love you.”
Heart clench.
“Save the sweet words for later. Let’s make a mess.”
I slide a beautiful leather-bound copy of War and Peace off of the shelf until it tips over the edge and drops on Stanford’s head.
“Ouch,” he yells, rubbing the place of impact. Glancing down at the book resting on his shoe, he complains, “This is Tolstoy. Your spell didn’t work.”
“Let me try again.” Scrunching up her face, Madison pretends to concentrate.
“That’s our cue.” I slide out another book and aim it at Stanford’s head.
Geoffrey laughs and joins me. His aim is better than mine.
More books drop off the shelves. Stanford dodges some of the biggest books, but can’t escape the volume of our attack. Even though he cowers in the middle of the room with his head covered, books pile at his feet.
“Call them off! This isn’t working,” he shouts and crawls behind a sofa.
“Ouch, I’ve been hit, too.” Madison lies. “Books of old, authors dead, please stop hitting me in the head.”
Exhilarated and laughing, Geoffrey and I pause mid throw. Energy sparks and glimmers around my hands. My chest rises and falls with rapid breathing my lungs don’t need.
Madison grins at us before speaking in a more serious tone. “Oh, look. There it is.”
Stanford stands and then brushes off his suit. “Where?”
She points at a section we didn’t disturb. “The only plain black spine.”
He slips on the books on the floor, nearly face-planting.
In smug triumph, he snatches the book from the shelf. “Stolen from the Bradfords by unscrupulous witches over a century ago, finally returned to its rightful owner.”
What actual bullshit is he spouting?
“Your family? But I thought it was a magical book,” Madison says.
Ignoring her, he pulls an archival sleeve from an interior pocket and slides the book inside. At least he’s not opening up the dummy book here.
Four Witches and a Funeral (Wicked Society Book 3) Page 5
